


Brewed Awakening

by deletable_bird



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Advice, Alien Biology, Alien Sex, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Humor, Angst and Porn, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Bickering, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Confusion, Consensual Sex, Crushes, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, First Dates, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Flushed, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Flying, Friendship/Love, Gay, Heavy Angst, Horn Stimulation, Kanaya Maryam/Karkat Vantas Moirallegiance, Kissing, Love, M/M, Making Out, Making Up, Male Solo, Masturbation, Minor Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam, Mistakes, Nervousness, Oral Sex, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Panic, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Coital Cuddling, Rejection, Relationship Advice, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Running Away, Sex, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spooning, Tickling, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Wet Dream, Wrestling, Xeno, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-01 13:24:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4021480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deletable_bird/pseuds/deletable_bird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>TG: this is the way we get drunk in the morning drunk in the morning drunk in the morning</em>
  <br/>
  <em>CG: THIS IS THE WAY SHUT THE FUCK UP, IT’S COFFEE</em>
  <br/>
  <em>TG: hoo boy touchy much</em>
  <br/>
  <em>TG: we should get together sometime</em>
  <br/>
  <em>CG: IF ANYONE’S TOUCHY IT</em>
  <br/>
  <em>CG: WHAT?</em>
</p><p>In Which Two Internet Friends Finally Get Together In Real Life And Everything Goes Completely Off The Rails</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Dave Is Impulsive, Karkat Follows Suit, And A Plane Is Boarded With A Great Deal Of Anxiety

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CosmicScalemate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicScalemate/gifts), [NothingSoDivine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingSoDivine/gifts).



> Coffeeshop AU, as requested. Still in progress, so tags will be added and the rating will probably go up and previous chapters may be edited. I'll make sure to let y'all know if anything weird happens.
> 
> I'm anticipating somewhere around 5 chapters with this story (though that number can always go up or down) and I will hopefully be posting each one 1-3 days apart. I usually don't post/share stories until they're completely finished, but I'm feeling reckless, so here you go ;)
> 
> (Also, shhh _hhhhhhhhhhhhhh_ it will get more coffeeshop AU-y, don't worry)
> 
> (also also I'm still learning how to format pesterlogs so that will be an inconsistent bitch for awhile)
> 
> (also also also the title is a pun, see?)

The bell over the door tinkles, one of those annoyingly cheerful sounds that the world is just full of. You save being angry for later when you actually have a good reason for it, though, instead looking around the large-ish single-room café with a mixture of reminiscence and pleasant anticipation. Some of your happiest past hours have been spent in these wifi havens, sitting nestled in those sleek yet inexplicably comfortable leather couches breathing in the aroma of coffee and cocoa surrounded by the soothing sounds of Hario grinders and quiet chatter.

You cross to the counter and order before taking your laptop over to one of those inexplicably sleek/comfortable couches and booting up Trollian. Both Vriska and Eridan are online, both of whom you have absolutely no desire to talk to, and they’re probably on their tiptoes trying to canoodle with their victims John and Feferi respectively. Sollux is also apparently available, but the only thing you can imagine happening if you bug him is a lot of swearing and no real conversation.

Your dilemma of who to troll is solved barely two seconds later when a notice pops up in the center of the screen.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] at 10:14 --

TG: whats up  
CG: THE SKY, THAT’S WHAT.  
TG: someones cheerful  
TG: and i mean this sincerely for once  
CG: THAT SOMEONE WILL VERY QUICKLY CEASE THEIR CHEERINESS IF THEIR CURRENT CORRESPONDENT CONTINUES TO DO A SPLENDID IMPERSONATION OF A BLUBBER-MUNCHING DICKFART  
TG: thats more like the vant-ass i know  
CG: HAPPY?  
TG: cant you tell karkles im dancing with the moon right now  
TG: im floating amongst the lilac scented clouds in a trance of ecstasy and pure joy  
CG: YOU ARE AN IDIOT.  
TG: you need to stop yelling  
CG: ARE YOU TRYING TO COUNSEL MY VOLUME ISSUES?  
TG: you have issues  
CG: FUCK YOU, IT WAS A SLIP OF THE TONGUE.  
CG: SLIP OF THE KEYBOARD I MEAN.  
CG: BECAUSE I WAS TYPING.  
CG: NEVER MIND.  
TG: i think i may need to enter lifeguard training because you are just floundering in the depths of grammar incompetency and clearly need some kind of savior  
CG: FIRST OF ALL FUCK YOU  
CG: SECOND OF ALL FUCK YOU  
CG: THIRD OF ALL SHUT THE FUCK UP BECAUSE MY DRINK IS HERE

You stand, half-closing your laptop, and cross the room to collect the coffee from the human barista who just called your name. When you return to your computer, there’s a new message.

TG: this is the way we get drunk in the morning drunk in the morning drunk in the morning  
CG: THIS IS THE WAY SHUT THE FUCK UP, IT’S COFFEE  
TG: hoo boy touchy much  
TG: we should get together sometime  
CG: IF ANYONE’S TOUCHY IT  
CG: WHAT?

There is a nerve-wrackingly long pause. You take a sip of the coffee and immediately expel it again. It’s _boiling_.

Finally a new line of red text appears on your screen in the corner of your eye as you’re mopping up the steaming puddle on your jeans, and you nearly knock the cup over as you rush to pull the laptop closer to you to read it.

TG: get together sometime cant you read doofus  
CG: I REALLY HOPE THAT INSULT WAS USED IRONICALLY, BECAUSE YOU’D BE EVEN MORE PATHETIC THAN I THOUGHT YOU WERE IF YOU REALLY THINK THAT QUALIFIES AS EVEN A WHISPER OF A CORNER IN THE GREAT CITY OF OFFENSIVE TERMS.  
TG: am i being rejected

You pause. Think. Type.

CG: NO.  
TG: cool

The pause that follows is so awkward you can taste it. You type something, anything, to break the silence, but before you can send it you delete it and wait. Dave made this proposition. Dave should be the one to finalize it.

TG: well this is awkward  
CG: THAT ABOUT SUMS IT UP.  
CG: SO IF WE ARE TO MEET UP SOMETIME IN THE HOPEFULLY NEAR FUTURE, ARE YOU GOING TO MAKE THE TREK OUT TO THE ARMPIT OF AMERICA TO VISIT ME OR WILL I HAVE TO HEAVE MYSELF OVER TO THE PUBIC MOUND OF AFOREMENTIONED COUNTRY TO VISIT YOU?  
TG: youre the one with the money dude  
CG: WHAT MONEY.  
TG: im fuckass broke kitkat and you know it  
TG: even egberts got more money than me and hes still working in his piece of shit joke shop  
CG: ALL RIGHT FINE, BUT YOU GET TO DO ALL THE ARRANGEMENTS AND I WANT A CHEAP FLIGHT.

Why are you agreeing to this? You’ve known Dave for years, yes, but the only internet friends you’ve bothered to meet are Jade and John (meeting them both at once was probably not the best idea) Gamzee, and Kanaya. Guess which one was a big mistake!

TG: will do mildew  
CG: ARE YOU ACTUALLY AGREEING TO DO EVERYTHING YOU CAN JUST TO GET YOUR PIECE OF SHIT INTERNET ACQUAINTANCE HALFWAY ACROSS THE COUNTRY?

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] sent carcinoGeneticist [CG] the file “readmylips.m4v” --

You open the file and wince. It’s an extreme, out-of-focus closeup of Dave’s mouth, very deliberately saying the words _you got it, asshole_.

You suppose it’s kind of affectionate, in a way.

* * *

Your shit is packed, your other shit is also packed, your plans are made, you are _at the fucking airport_ , and you are not ready.

You pace back and forth, honest-to-God biting your nails. Where did all this jittery come from? Since when have you bitten your nails? Since when have you _paced_ , goddammit?

Since when did you _fly across the country_ on a _whim_?

What _happened_?

A tall, blonde human lady with ridiculously red lipstick calls out your flight number and you hitch your side bag higher on your shoulder, your heart beating ridiculously fast. Beside her, a burly oliveblood troll guard stands with his arms crossed, scanning each passenger as they pass him to file down the hall and board the plane.

The plane that is going to take you to Dave.

_ohgodohgodohgodohgod_

You don’t even try to smile at the blonde and the oliveblood as you hand them your boarding pass. You make it down the hallway, but once you come face to face with the bronzeblood flight attendant waiting to tell you where you’ll be sitting, your legs freeze up and you stop dead.

She gives you a confused smile, lips painted faintly copper and shimmering in the light, and says, “Boarding pass, sir?”

The awful-smelling human behind you says, “Get a move on, kid,” and you jolt back to life. You shoot the man behind you a fiercely indignant look (your facial flip-off is nearly perfect) show the bronzeblood your boarding pass, and scoot down the aisle to your seat.

You block out the background noise with Depeche Mode (blame Dave) and wait.


	2. In Which Karkat Is Exhausted, Dave Is Utterly Panicked, And Things Turn Out In A Way Altogether Unexpected By All Parties Involved

All right, this is fucked up and you are an idiot and also have no idea what you’re going to say and are pacing, _since when have you paced_ , calm down Strider, not cool to freak out when you’re about to meet your best internet bro. Especially since you were the one who invited said best internet bro halfway across the country to meet you in person.

In person. Every time you think those two words your heart tries to commit suicide via beating itself to death against your ribs.

Your phone spouts a text alert from your butt pocket and you nearly fall over trying to scramble it out and into your hands asap. The all-caps text on the lock screen’s message preview is instantly recognizable and you fall backwards onto your bed as you open Pesterchum and read the new message.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG] at 08:04

CG: WELL, I’M HERE IN YOUR PUBIC MOUND OF A CITY AND ABSOLUTELY EXHAUSTED AND ALSO CONFUSED OUT OF MY FUCKING SKULL BECAUSE I HAVE GOTTEN (WAIT FOR IT) ZILCH SHUT-EYE IN THE PAST THIRTY-SIX HOURS, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. WHERE ARE WE MEETING, AND ALSO I ASSUME I’M GOING TO BE ALLOWED TO SLEEP AT YOUR PLACE BECAUSE I HAVE LITERALLY NOWHERE ELSE TO GO. ONCE AGAIN, THANK YOU FOR THIS IDEA, WHICH IS PARALLEL IN QUALITY WITH THE IDEA OF MAKING VRISKA SERKET LEADER OF ANYTHING.  
CG: BETTER MAKE IT WORTH IT, DOUCHEBAG.

Oh holy fucking hell, this is just one big mistake after another. You can’t just leave him hanging though.

TG: pick a place any place  
CG: I NEED CAFFEINE, SHITSTAIN.  
TG: that device youre holding in your hands  
TG: give it a good look karkles its called a phone and it has this capability to look things up for you  
TG: now i want you to very carefully look up coffee shops in your current location and pick your favorite of the lot  
CG: ALL RIGHT, ALL RIGHT, I GET THE FUCKING GIST, YOU CAN SHUT UP NOW.  
TG: wow rude

This is better now. Your easy online rapport is always an outfit that you slide into without trouble whenever Karkat starts launching insults at you. You wait for the next line of gray text with the breath slipping a little easier in and out of your lungs.

CG: THIS “BREWED AWAKENING” PLACE LOOKS LIKE IT’S RELATIVELY NEAR TO YOUR PLACE OF RESIDENCE AND MY CURRENT PLACE OF STATE OF SLEEPWALKING. I’LL SEE YOU THERE IN TWENTY.  
TG: ok cool

carcinoGeneticist  [CG] ceased trolling turntechGodhead  [TG] at 08:13

A stupid smile spreads across your face as you let the phone drop to your chest. You gaze up at the ceiling. This might just actually work out.

Two seconds later you’re scrambling to re-open Pesterchum and utterly panicking.

Unfortunately, you’ve remembered the name of the café correctly. _Fuck._

No. Oh Jesus Christ and all eldritch horrors please no. You did not just agree to meet Karkat Vantas at your current place of employment, which you are required to be present and ready to work at in no less than fourteen minutes in the past.

Talk about a big mistake.

* * *

The drive to Brewed Awakening Café is stressful for both parties in question. In a rusty old pickup, an adrenaline-filled coolkid human tries not to die in a car crash. In a cigarette-scented taxi, an exhausted, nervous wreck of a troll can barely keep his eyes open. Both are panicking internally about their presumably enormous mistakes in inviting one out to the other’s place of residence and the other’s acceptance of the one’s offer. Both want to meet the other so desperately they’re not even sure _what_ they want anymore.

The pickup truck pulls up to the streetside, downtown café merely seven meager minutes before the taxi does. From behind the counter, a recently scolded blonde wearing a pair of aviator shades watches as the nubby-horned troll get his suitcase and duffel out of the trunk and bring them to the door of the coffeeshop, where he has a brief scrum with the handle and his luggage.

The troll enters the café and glances around at the rustic-themed coffeehouse, taking in the early-morning clientele seated along the bar on knobbly-looking stools and on squashy leather couches framing the table-filled center of the room. There is no white-blond head or ironically stupid sunglasses visible anywhere in the main part of the room.

The counter at the back draws his attention. A tall, skinny sort of guy (white blonde, ironically stupid sunglasses undeniably present) is slouching behind it, wearing an apron and looking as if he’s trying to hide behind the glass case of cookies perched beside the cash register.

Holy shit.

* * *

You cringe behind your shades as he finds you at last. An incredulous smile starting to spread across his face, he crosses the room at a trot, dragging the suitcase behind him and lugging the duffel over one shoulder, until he stops right in front of you and stares you right in the eye.

He’s at least five inches shorter than you. Wow. That is actually really fucking adorable.

“Good morning sir, what can I get you today?” you deadpan, scooting out from behind the cookie case and not meeting his eyes.

“An explanation, fuckhead,” he says, far too loudly. “You work here?”

He’s still kind of smiling. You take it as not-total-rejection and nod.

“Oh my _fucking_ God, you are the dorkiest hoofbeast that ever was unfortunate to walk this land and I cannot tell you how pants-shittingly relieved I am to be in the vicinity of an actual person who I know and also has access to coffee. Black, cream without sugar.”

You’re grinning back now even though you don’t want to be and before you can think about it you hold out a fist for a bump and both of you are beaming like nerds and you get him his coffee and you can’t stop busting out the random smile or glancing over at him.

It makes you unreasonably happy to see that he’s grinning as well, and seems to be as unable to stop doing so as you are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow keeping the point of view consistent is hard i.e. impossible.
> 
> As always comments, critique, suggestions, and requests are greatly appreciated and will be fed strawberries and cream until they evolve into fully grown thunder dragons. If you're enjoying this story, I would absolutely love it if you would take the time to share it on Facebook, Tumblr, whatever. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you'll stick around for the ~~angst~~ fun to come!


	3. In Which Both Characters Are Secretly Delighted To See Each Other, Albeit Rudely, Something Like A Date Is Gone On, And The Uncertain Realms Of Real-Life Getting-To-Know-Each-Other Are Breached

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these titles are just gonna get more and more alternian

You have to admit, although this place has a lame name and _very_ lame employees (looking at you Mr. Ironically Idiotic) they make really fucking good coffee.

“Yo,” says aforementioned very lame employee, bracing himself against the counter. You look up at him and do not show the giant smile that is threatening to break through.

“So how are you liking my humble abode?”

“Meh,” you say, glancing around. “The coffee’s good. The name is stupid. The current staff are epically ironically shitty.”

“Wow, I’m so hurt,” he deadpans, putting a hand to his chest. You’re actually impressed. He’s as monotone and sarcastic in real life as he his online. You’ll have to step up your creative insult game.

“When do you get off work?” you ask instead, mentally slapping yourself. How is that in any way shape or form a thickly veiled allusion to being happy to see the douchebag standing in front of you?

He checks his watch. “Three hours, more or less. I’m free after noon on Fridays.” He gives you a sarcastic kind of smirk. “Where shall I take thee to entertain thyself, my lord? This puny vassal seeks only to please thy most carnal urges.”

You flip him off and take a sip of coffee to give yourself time to think and also to excuse your suddenly burning face. When you emerge from your mug his smirk is full-blown and triumphantly smug. You want to put him in a headlock, but settle for busting out your best on-the-spot derogatory request for food.

“I happen to have subsisted on the merest victuals of airplane peanuts, Sprite, coffee, and the cookie I’m just about to buy for the past day and a half, so I think the traditional noontide activity of eating a giant fucking meal in a new environment’s finest restaurant would suffice for today. Douche.”

An eyebrow creeps up over the rim of the shades. “Is this any way to treat a faithful servant?”

“I happen to be physically restraining my large intestine from teaming up with my protein chute and remainder of my digestive tract and leaping out of my stomach to strangle some kind of sustenance out of you. Cookie, Strider.”

“What kind?” he asks, monotone again.

You scoff. “I don’t fucking care, the biggest kind you’ve got!”

You end up with the largest fucking cookie you’ve ever seen. It’s the size of your spread fingers and as thick as two of said phalanges pressed together, and appears to be chocolate. You take a hearty bite and almost immediately spit it out again on the counter.

“What the fuck is this?” you half-shout, staring in incredulity at the bitten-into cookie. Now you’re actually looking, you can see the bacon bits strewn throughout the pastry like chocolate chips. You give Dave’s back a smoldering look of absolute fury, but end up taking another nibble of the cookie because your stomach is actually snarling at you by now.

It’s actually pretty surprisingly good, and once it’s gone (you even managed to consume the previously spat-out bite on the counter) you settle in to nurse your coffee and prod at your phone until the reason you’re here has found the time to actually pay you any attention.

You try to just look around the café and the humans and trolls slowly filling it, but you unfailingly find yourself staring at Dave every time you allow your mind to wander even the tiniest bit. Eventually you just resign yourself to the fact that you have to take in every detail of his presence in the _same fucking room as you_ and succumb to the urge to devour him with your eyeballs.

He’s tall, about two or three inches short of six feet, and skinny, but he manages to keep his movements just on the graceful side of gangly. The more you watch him, the more you realize how broad his shoulders would be if he stood up straight, how close to flawless his build would be if he straightened his back and picked his hands up out of his pockets once in a while. 

The time does begin to creep after a while, and you resort to your phone for the last hour and a half or so. When Dave finally taps you on the shoulder, you’re muttering curses at your phone’s screen and engrossed in the slaughter of stupidly smug green pig heads.

You look up and are immediately struck by how close to you he’s standing. He’s ditched the apron and the familiar red and white of his (presumably favorite? he wears it all the fucking time anyway) shirt is on full display.

“Lunch, my lady?” he deadpans, holding out a hand to you. You make an incredulous noise as you shove your phone back into your pocket and slap his hand away, but walk beside him to the door anyway.

* * *

With the windows rolled down and your arms free of luggage and the radio on, Dave’s rusty old pickup could be a Ferrari for how wonderful it feels to be in it, driving down straight shop-lined roads in bright noonday sunlight. He’s turned on the radio so you don’t have to talk and it’s blaring something with banal lyrics and a really nice beat, and you can feel your heart sync up to the pulse as you alternate between staring out the window and watching Dave drive, slender fingers on the steering wheel, shifting the clutch, working the pedals. His shirtsleeves are rolled up to his elbows and you can see the muscles in his forearms bunch every time he yanks the truck into gear, you get to watch his shoulders shift as he flicks the turn signal on.

The fourth time you catch yourself staring at him, he looks over at you, smirking again.

“Can’t get enough of all this, can you Karkles?” he asks, and you growl at him but it’s so half-hearted you don’t even know if it counts.

“It’s just . . . weird,” you reply, looking out the window again.

“Good weird or bad weird?” he says, monotone but you can almost hear the worry underlying his words.

You shrug. “I’m not sure.”

There’s a pause, and then you add “Because I’m literally going to implode on myself if I don’t get some kind of nourishment in the next five minutes, you shameglobe! My stomach is getting ready to commit mutiny and devour the rest of my internal organs, and I’d really rather avoid that kind of disaster.”

“All right, all right, fine, we’re here,” he says exasperatedly, and you launch yourself out of the car, your face burning. Serious conversations with this idiot are going to be a problem if you just catch on fire every time you try to have one.

He exits the vehicle in a slightly more sedate manner and joins you under the awning. “You didn’t even let me hand you out of the carriage, darling,” he deadpans, opening the door for you with a flourish.

You actually splutter and snatch the handle away from him, shoving him into the restaurant which incidentally smells delicious. He stumbles a few steps forward but snickers anyway and you follow him into the cloud of heaven that hovers inside the building.

One quarter-pounder and a whole lot of verbal fuckery later you’re grinning at something stupid Strider said as you climb back into the truck. The drive back to the apartment is loud, boisterous, and extremely rude, but you’re smiling anyway as you sail through the evening city.

You quickly discover, however, that the residence of Dave Strider is less than exemplary. You insist on taking the elevator (you’d never admit it but you actually may have eaten far too much) and wait impatiently as Dave unlocks his apartment. You take one step in and stop dead.

“What in the actual fuck is this,” you say. He turns around, hands shoved deep in his pockets and shoulders hunched.

“It’s a house, Karkles,” and once again you can hear the uncertainty under his deadpan.

“This, my dear very-not-friend, is a fucking pigsty.”

“Oh yeah? Well sorry I can’t live up to the expectations of Mr. Neat-and-Tidy Vantas,” he shoots back, and there’s a bite in his voice.

You take a step back. He turns around and takes two paces away from you, then turns back and says “Are you going to come in or sleep out in the hallway?”

You don’t reply, only grab your bags and lug them into the house. Dave gives you the couch and puts on a movie and you don’t really say anything else for the rest of the evening.

You both go to sleep without saying good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments, critiques, and requests are deeply appreciated and will be treated to a dinner date in Paris and stuffed full of Tootsie rolls <3 If you're enjoying this tale of fuckery and love, please take the time to share it on any of your preferred social media platforms, as it would mean a lot to me and also spread Davekat even farther out there in the world :D


	4. In Which Dave Crosses Lines, Karkat Reinforces Them With Panicked Fervor, And Tickle Fights Leads To Remorse And Inner Turmoil Unfortunately Kept Secret From Others

“Rise and shine, Aurora,” comes the raspy morning-voice, and you surface out of a kind of haze of half-sleep. You sit up, rubbing your eyes, glancing around with the disoriented kind of confusion that always comes with waking in a place that’s not your own bed.

You flop back onto the itchy pillow you’d salvaged from under the couch and stare at the ceiling until Dave’s words register. He’s clanking around in the kitchen that’s separated from the living room by only a bar, but you know he can hear you as you ask, incredulous, “You know the birth name of human Disney’s Sleeping Beauty?”

He pauses, but replies with a smirk in his voice. “Irony, my dear Watson.”

You snort. “Wow, shitty.”

Ten minutes later he sits down on your feet with a plate of what looks like Kraft Dinner, judging from its horrifying shade of orange. You let out an undignified squawk and wrench your ankles out from under his ass, and he snickers as he hands you a plate as well.

“What kind of breakfast is this?” you ask with an eyebrow raised as you examine the radioactive-orange noodles. It hits you barely a second later that this is dangerously similar to the comment that pushed you two apart last night, but Dave only snickers.

“À la Strider, Karkles.” You think the sarcasm sounds a bit forced, but it could just be your stressed-out brain twisting things to appear far worse than they actually are. God knows it already does that enough.

However deadly the cheese may appear, it tastes perfectly edible, and you scarf it down. Dave is apparently an excruciatingly slow eater (you were too absorbed in your own dinner last night to pay any attention to his own mastication habits) and by the time he’s done you’ve changed, brushed your teeth and officially put your hair off for another day.

“What are we doing today then?” you ask, flopping down beside him. You realize too late that you’re so close to him your legs are touching, but all of a sudden it feels like it would be undeniably awkward and/or rude to pull away. Goddammit, he just shifted and your stomach is lurching like it’s a three-wheeled wagon.

“Why are you asking me for ideas?” Dave asks, focusing on running his finger around the rim of his plate and licking it clean of the electric-orange residue. Your eyes are glued to this spectacle, and it takes you a moment or two to register the words.

“Um, y-you—you’re the one that brought me out here in the first place,” you say, swallowing the stutter with heat blooming across your face. It almost never surfaces, but when it does nobody who’s listening ever lets it slide.

Dave holds true to this unfortunate life policy. “Did you just _stammer_?” he says incredulously, twisting around in a way that makes his hip shove into yours, and you practically leap away. He grins—it’s an honest-to-God grin, broad and ear-to-ear and not ruggedly crooked like some shitty cliché but it makes your stomach do another backflip anyway. _Fuck_.

“N-no,” you insist, furiously cursing your tongue and assorted other organs.

“Oh my God, you did,” he deadpans, reaching out with both hands and squashing your face. “That is the most adorable fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

You yelp, squawk, screech and actually _squeal_ , flailing around like a jellyfish having a seizure, but he doesn’t let go. Somehow his grip gets transferred to your chest, and when you finally stop thrashing he has both your arms pinned to your chest and you’re snugged tight up against him, your back to his front. You can feel his breath on your neck, and actually shiver.

“Well hello there,” he says, and his lips just barely brush your skin. Your breath hitches and you launch yourself away from him, crashing knees-first into the coffee table and shrieking in pain and humiliation. When you come back to your senses the first thing you register is Dave cackling with laughter behind you.

You turn around, anger licking up inside of you, but it almost immediately dissipates when you see Dave sprawled across the couch, literally gasping for air with his shirt rucked up to bare four inches of pale, unfairly toned stomach.

You go in for the kill.

Dave’s shriek of shock and laughter is absolutely worth the embarrassment of planting your mouth firmly above his bellybutton and blowing the largest lungful of air you can muster against his warm skin in a deeply satisfying fart noise. Your fingers sneak up his shirt, dancing over his grubscar-free ribcage, and he bats pathetically at your hair, wheezing, until his fingertips find your horns and he latches on, yanking your head up and back with a triumphant “Ha!”

Your first reaction is shock. Touching a troll’s horns is a solidly sexual action, since their varied shapes make them pretty much useless in battle. Highbloods have been known to remove lowbloods’ horns as an extreme form of debasement, but any other horn contact is overtly intimate and pretty much taboo if the toucher and the touchee aren’t concupiscently involved.

Your second reaction is an automatic flood of arousal. You let out a gasp of air and reach up to Dave’s grip on you with the intention to guide his fingers to a better place, but this intention soon dissolves in a flood of anger.

“What the _fuck_ , Strider?” you shout, grabbing him by the wrists instead and wrenching his hands off your horns. He scrambles into a sitting position as you scrabble back, shoving yourself to your feet. “You have no _fucking_ idea of decency, do you?”

“Yo, Karkles,” he says, bewildered, reaching out a hand to you, but you smack it away.

“ _No_! _God fucking dammit_ , Dave, you cannot do that!”

“Karkat, what did I do?” He’s on his feet now and you’re backing away, quite possibly shaking. You’re overreacting, you know it, but that bolt of arousal wasn’t just automatic. There’s something else between you that you hadn’t expected and don’t want to welcome.

“You don’t—you can’t just—w-why would you—” You’re stuttering and trembling and scared. Why is this going so badly so soon? Why couldn’t it just have never worked out in the first place?

“Dude, what happened,” he says, and his hands are on your shoulders and it’s steadying you like nothing else has ever done and you hate it but you lean into him anyway, letting your chin drop to your chest.

“You don’t just touch a troll’s horns,” you manage, mumbling it to your feet. “That’s like grabbing a human’s shameglobes. It’s not how it works.”

He takes in a sudden breath and then, so sweetly that you look up at him in incredulity, he says “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“Did you actually just apologize?” you ask, and he goes honest-to-God red.

“I meant it too.”

He’s deadpanning again, but you muster up a kind-of-smile anyway.

* * *

That night, lying awake and restless on the couch, still using that god _damned_ itchy-as-fuck pillow, you breathe fast and shallow and try to ignore the highly unwanted yet undeniably enticing thoughts creeping around in the shadowy corners of your currently Strider-filled think pan. Even more than that you try very hard to ignore the electric emotions currently bubbling up inside you like a soda poured too fast.

But once hazy slumber closes over your thoughts all your resistance is gone, and the number of times you wake that night panting and trembling and sweaty is entirely indecent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the hiatus, but hopefully this and the next chapter (where things _really_ start to happen) will make up for it. As always, comments, critique, and requests for new fics will be made miniature fairy houses and catered to with much bowing and scraping. If you like, please leave kudos and share on your preferred social media platform to spread this story (and davekat) a little farther out in the world :)


	5. In Which Things Are Attempted, Aforementioned Things Go Very Badly, Dave Seeks Counsel, And Unwanted Walks Towards Runaway Love Interests Are Gone On

The knock on your doorframe jolts you out of your stupor. You pause the remix blasting into your headphones and look up toward the entrance to your room.

Karkat’s leaning against the doorframe, silhouetted against the light you leave on in the kitchen. His hair is a tousled mess (when is it ever not a total disaster) and his hands are in his pockets. You can just barely make out his features, and as your eyes find his mouth his tongue swipes lightning-fast over his lower lip.

“What’s up?” you ask, mentally facepalming two seconds later. Way to ironically go, Strider. That was awful.

“That’s what started all this,” he replies. His eyes are fixed on yours and as you meet his gaze all of a sudden it’s hard to breathe. “Just ‘what’s up.’ That’s all you said.”

“Are you leaving?” you say before you can even think about what’s coming out of your mouth.

Karkat jolts upright. “God, no!” He pauses, glancing down at his feet as if he’s embarrassed, then asks “Can I come in?”

“My home is your home,” you reply, making an exaggerated gesture of deference. You barely catch a half-hearted smile, and then he sits on your bed. His knees are together and he’s leaning forward, arms straight, with his hands gripping the edge of your mattress. He looks nervous as fuck.

You sprawl an arm over the back of your desk chair and spin idly back and forth, back and forth. “Well?” you say eventually. “What is it you’re feeling the need to dump all over this Strider glory?”

“I—I just wanted to,” he begins, and you stomp vigorously on the smile that threatens to burst forth every time he stammers like that. He finishes adorably tremulously. “To try something?”

“Lay it on me, babe,” you deadpan, sweeping your arms down your body in a gesture that screams _you think you can take a piece of this?_

He stands up, pauses, then takes three baby steps over to your chair. All of a sudden you wish your legs weren’t quite so far apart, but it’s too late because he’s in between them and his fingertips are brushing the underside of your chin and it’s so fucking electric, there’s heat flooding from him to you and then his lips are featherlight on yours and your stomach is performing an Olympic tumbling routine because holy _fuck_ is that amazing.

He draws away and your mouth follows his for a heartbeat in the uncoolest way possible. Your eyes drift open (when did they close) and meet his, shadowed but visible about three inches from yours. They’re darting back and forth and there’s a tiny little worried furrow between his brows that all of a sudden you want to smooth out with your thumb.

“I, um,” he starts, and never finishes. You don’t say anything, just hold his gaze. His lips are still slightly parted, and your eyes slide down to his mouth, and then you’re leaning forward, hands snaking around his waist, and your mouth crashes into his and he makes an anguished noise and shoves his hands against your chest and you’re flat against the back of your desk chair, listening to running footsteps leaving the house.

Well, that went well.

* * *

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist  [TT] at 22:37 --

TG: rose i have a grave problem  
TT: Don’t you always?  
TG: . . .  
TT: I apologize, Dave. As you ironic types would say, “lay it on me.”  
TG: i  
TG: um  
TG: im not sure how to start actually  
TG: here

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] sent tentacleTherapist [TT] the file “howitallbegan.txt” --

TT: Dear, dear brother, you are pathetically impulsive.  
TT: I assume things simply went downhill from this conversation?

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] sent tentacleTherapist [TT] the file “thenthishappened.txt” --

TT: Isn’t “Brewed Awakening” your place of employment?  
TG: yup  
TT: I imagine that was awkward.  
TG: actually it turned out ok he just called me a bunch of names and ordered a coffee  
TT: So what is this conversation destined to cover, if not your relationship troubles with Karkat?  
TG: my other relationship troubles with karkat  
TT: I await clarification, alone and helpless to counsel you unless I am completely aware of all your issues.  
TG: we got in a tickle fight and i accidentally molested his horns  
TT: Oh my.  
TG: and then the next day he walks in and straight up smooches me like nbd  
TT: Oh *my.*  
TG: youre an awful therapist  
TT: And?  
TG: and now hes gone  
TG: hes been gone for nearly five hours now  
TT: And you haven’t gone after him like the helpless homosexual you are?  
TG: i mean i figured he needed some time alone  
TT: I suppose you were probably right, but now everything’s going to be triply awkward when you two finally get around to getting together.  
TG: fucking dammit rose stop implying that weve been destined to fall in love  
TT: I merely preach the truth.  
TG: hes only been here three days and hes already run out on me  
TG: this was a huge mistake wasnt it  
TG: and its my fucking fault  
TG: im the one who brought him out here in the fucking first place and its just a total fuckup  
TG: biggest fuckup of the year and the perpetrators just sitting here like a dickfart schmooping to his fucking unhelpful sister  
TG: and i dont know if theres a way to even try to salvage this fucking pile of steaming horseshit of a situation  
TG: i certainly cant fucking see one  
TT: Dave, stop.  
TT: First of all, although it may be your fault that Karkat traveled halfway across the country to, as you say, have his horns “molested”, it is certainly not your fault that he’s gone.  
TG: i fucking kissed him back and he ran away lalonde are you not listening  
TT: Dave.  
TT: It is not your fucking fault that he’s gone.  
TG: okay im listening  
TT: Good. Now. According to my own personal troll acquaintances, horn-fondling is a singularly sexual act, reserved for kismeses and matesprits only. I assume that the automatic arousal triggered by your touch was most likely deeply unsettling and, I daresay, the metaphorical opening of the floodgates of Karkat’s feelings for you.  
TT: Thus, his attempt to fill one of his concupiscent quadrants with you, most likely matespritship. But his previous feelings of flushed romance got in the way of the pressuring sense of duty to make you his matesprit, therefore he’s caught between instinctual obligation and free decision.  
TT: I’m sure you can see his confusion.  
TG: holy fuck  
TG: setting aside the horrifying fact that im taking relationship advice from my biological sister  
TG: when did you become an expert on the way trolls work  
TT: If I told you, I’m fairly certain you would immediately wish I hadn’t.  
TG: fair enough i guess  
TT: Are you going to go looking for him now?  
TG: i live in a fucking city how the fuck am i going to find one puny little troll  
TT: I think you can guess where he’ll be.  
TG: . . .  
TG: fuck it youre right

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 22:59 --

TT: *sigh*

* * *

_Fucking_ piece of _shithole trash_ won’t even _dicking_ start and the _only fucking time_ it’s ever done this just _has_ to be the time when you _really fucking need it._

You launch a vicious kick at the pickup door and pain shoots up your leg. Your knee buckles, and you slide to the ground, your face in your hands. Your eyes are burning.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so much regret in your entire life.

You don’t know how long it is until you stand up, but stand up you do. The street is bathed in a yellow streetlamp glow and there’s a soft, poetic kind of wind sweeping across you.

You start walking.

Your feet carry you until they’re aching, but you don’t stop, pushing yourself farther. You’re not heading anywhere in particular (definitely not toward Karkat, if he’s where you’re positive he is) but somehow ( _damn_ you Lalonde) you end up there anyway.

You see him before he sees you, across the street, and you stop walking like you hit a brick wall. He’s hunched over on the bench beside the bike rack, his arms wrapped around his torso and his face hidden by his shaggy mess of hair. He’s rocking back and forth ever so slightly, even though it’s not shiver-worthy weather in any way shape or form.

You take two steps toward him and stop, unable to wrench your eyes away from him. Then a burly troll bangs into you and growls “Watch it, kid,” and he looks up.

Your gaze locks with his. It’s like some kind of shitty romance novel, the way your eyes meet beneath the street lights, a bond unbreakable even by the bustle and roar of the city. He stands up and opens his mouth, like you’re only a few feet away and he can speak to you.

Before you can do anything, his mouth snaps shut and he whirls around and runs, disappearing into the alley beside Brewed Awakening.

* * *

The apartment feels empty and hopeless. You don’t bother locking the door behind you (you’re hoping he’ll come back in the night) and leave the lights on (wouldn’t want him stubbing a toe). Your bed is as unwelcoming it’s ever been as you flop onto it without even taking off your shoes.

You wake on your back four hours later after a frighteningly vivid dream that you can barely remember, with a fucking hard-on. You let out a heavy breath and press your hands over your eyes, feeling close to tears again.

Barely minutes later you have your hand down your pants, your breath harsh and ragged as you imagine Karkat’s voice inside your head, saying all manner of pathetically filthy things but mostly just moaning and panting and fucking _stammering_ (that stammer) like he’s so turned on he’s incoherent. You come in your pants like a teenager, and lie awake for hours afterward.

You definitely don’t cry one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyyyyyyyyy there it is, we got dave to whip it out
> 
> If you enjoyed this ~~goddamned fucking piece of time-consuming shit that just won't stop~~ tale, please leave kudos + critique and requests for new fics in the comments :D Also if you wouldn't mind, take the time to share this story on your preferred social media platform for, well y _ou should fucking know this by now go read the notes at the end of the previous three fucking chapters goddamn am i tired_ okay bye


	6. In Which Awakenings Are Rudely Instigated, Conclusions Of An Imperfect Destiny Are Reached, And Speed Limits Are Broken With Wild Abandon

The sun rises and you’re still awake, still full of anger and unhappiness and confusion. The city doesn’t metaphorically ‘come to life’ as natural light fills the streets, because it never went to sleep in the first place.

The movement and noise surrounding you is oddly soothing, and you force your legs to keep walking for who knows how long. Nobody stops you, and you only pause twice at a drinking fountain and then a vending machine.

The sun beats down on the pavement and your sweaty hair flops over your forehead in a way that was distracting a while ago but you’ve long since stopped pushing it out of your eyes. The stupor doesn’t lift, and though for a while you looked up and around occasionally, you soon stop.

Hours pass. You don’t speed up or slow down. Once you stop, but it doesn’t last long. The restlessness pervading your bones doesn’t leave until finally you stop in the evening light, looking up at the narrow sans serif letters spelling out Brewed Awakening.

Rude awakening indeed.

You push open the door and stop, surprised at the brightness. There’s no audible or visible change in the atmosphere, quiet chatter not stopping and no one standing up and shouting “Why is he in here?”

You look around, and your blood pusher quite possibly stops. Dave is walking, head down, straight toward you. Just like that first day, his sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, and he’s watching his feet like his life depends on it.

You take two steps forward and he actually bangs into you. He barely has time to look up at you and open his mouth—oh God that mouth—before you grab his face and crush your lips against his.

He makes a whimpery sort of noise into your mouth and his hands find your waist, and you arch your back and press yourself against him, mouth open and desperate, your thumb finding its way under the rim of his shades.

The kiss doesn’t last long, and when you finally break apart he’s half-smiling and confused and his stupid sunglasses are crooked. You reach out to straighten them (second thoughts, _so many second thoughts_ , but you go through with it) and kind-of-smile back.

Someone wolf-whistles.

* * *

“The speed limit’s thirty,” you say, proud of your voice for barely shaking as you eye the speedometer needle creeping up on fifty. Dave smirks a shaky kind of smirk and eases the gas even farther down.

“Sorry to tell you, Karkles, but I’m completely out of fucks to give.”

“Even for me? I was expecting one.”

The words slip out of your mouth before you can think about them and your face goes the hottest it’s ever been, but the sharp rise of Dave’s chest as the phrase registers is so worth it.

The speedometer doesn’t dip below sixty for the rest of the ride back to the apartment.

Dave parks the car sloppily and yanks the keys out, and you barely give him enough time to shove them into his back pocket before you reach across to grab his waist.

Your noses bump and your teeth knock together and he _giggles_ —note to self: make him do that more often because _fuck_ —but then your lips part against each other and then there’s the hot slide of tongue against slick tongue, and you actually fucking moan.

Dave breaks away to stare at you, panting, and you shove his shades up and off his face into his hair, catching his bangs and flipping them back—wow you’ve never actually seen his forehead unobscured—before you dive back in and kiss him hard and hot.

He doesn’t respond, and you pull away and search his face, your right hand cupping his left cheek. Then his eyes register, and you can’t look away.

They’re not blood-red and dramatic, more a kind of abnormally pinkish-red color. What really strikes you is the emphatic fringe of thick white eyelashes, the same color as his hair. They frame his eyes like—you don’t know, fucking snowflakes, something stupid and cheesy like that.

His lips are parted and his face is flushed and so naked and full of emotion it almost hurts. You brush his temple with your thumb, then stroke under his eye. You lean forward, pulling his head gently down, and place a single kiss on each eyelid.

He lets out a ragged sigh-laugh, and you can feel the exhale against your neck, and you press your mouth against his forehead. A few strands of his bangs have escaped from the headband of his glasses, and you kiss his hairline, his hair, his temple. Your lips trail down his cheek, pausing to mouth at his earlobe, feathering across his jawline and pressing at the corner of his mouth. He kisses back, soft and chaste.

“Inside?” you murmur, and he nods, turning away from you with obvious reluctance to open his door. You scoot out past him, pulling him close to you with an arm around his waist, and he wraps his arm over your shoulder and doesn’t let you go all the way up.

* * *

You stop just inside the door, letting your arm slip from around Dave’s waist. He turns, his shades still in his hair—fuck, he looks so _naked_ without them in their usual position, so obviously full of feeling—a hopeful expression obvious in his sort-of-smile and half-raised eyebrows.

“Karkat?”

“Are we—are we doing this?” you stutter, not even trying to hide it. His smile melts away and his shoulders slump.

“I hoped we were,” he says. You suck in a sharp breath.

“No, I don’t—I mean, I _want_ to, but I—fuck, I don’t know.” You’re a mess, you’re a fucking mess, oh God if having intestine-twisting second thoughts were an Olympic sport you’d be golden.

Dave lets out yet another of those sigh-laughs, raising and lowering his shoulders with his huff of breath. His eyes are cast down, but he’s kind-of-smiling again.

“We fucked up, Karkles,” he says. “We fucked up so bad.”

You start to say something, stop and start something else, then just shut your mouth entirely. “Yeah, we did.”

“So what happens now?”

“If everything went perfectly, we’d have some really fucking fantastic sex and then cuddle and have a fucking in-depth conversation about our feelings for each other and shit and figure everything out and wake up in the fucking morning sunlight and make real breakfast that’s not human Kraft Dinner and then one of us would move in with the other and there would be no fucking-up of matters and we’d live in the metaphorical happy-ever-after.” You pause for breath, and to swallow the lump rising in your throat. “But obviously nothing’s ever going to go right in this fucking attempt at a relationship, so forget that.”

Dave looks up, to the side, tries to smile and fails. Eventually, his gaze pulls yours up to his face.

“We could try,” he suggests, and his voice his so hopeful it makes your blood pusher ache.

“Let’s just,” you try, and can’t talk without your voice cracking, and hold your arms out all fucking awkward like a penguin in a double-arm cast.

He takes two steps forward and sweeps you into the best hug you’ve ever received, and he smells like fresh coffee beans and old leather and car exhaust and Ivory soap and you may or may not cry just a tiny bit into his shoulder.

The light fades fast after that, and just like that first night he puts on a movie and you don’t say very much of anything else that evening, only this time you’re curled in the warmth of being beside him and when you drop your head to rest on his chest you can hear the beat of his blood pusher, the steady tempo of something like a lullaby.

You don’t move from that couch, curled beside Dave, and when you wake the next day you’re sprawled over his stomach with your right ear pressed against his chest and your left hand curled loosely around his neck, that heartbeat still pulsing steady.

You haven’t felt this safe since never.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy it's almost over (most likely by tomorrow)
> 
> You guys know the score: comments, critique, requests, and kudos are greatly appreciated share on preferred social media platform and enjoy :D Thanks so much for reading my stuff, it means so much to me when I hear people comment that they liked it, didn't like it, thought it was all right but had room for improvement, or just leave a simple kudos. <3 I love you all!


	7. In Which Pale Advances Are Reciprocated, Flushed Proposals Are Reacted To In Much The Same Way, And The Winning Duo Of Most Awkward Relationship Development In The History Of The Planet Finally Get Around To Getting Together

\-- carcinoGeneticist  [CG] began pestering grimAuxiliatrix  [GA] at 14:39 --

CG: CAN I ASK YOU SOMETHING?  
GA: Thats Obvious  
GA: You Just Did  
GA: However I Presume You Think Im Equipped With The Knowledge To Answer Your Next Inquiry  
GA: Therefore Ask Away  
CG: HOW DOES AN INDIVIDUAL ASK POLITELY FOR SEX?  
CG: I MEAN IS THERE A KIND OF FUCKING ETIQUETTE SET AND RULES FOR SAYING “PLEASE FUCK ME?”  
CG: NOT IN AS MANY WORDS, BUT YOU GET MY GIST.  
CG: I HOPE YOU DO, AT LEAST.  
CG: KANAYA?  
GA: Who Are You Intending To Have Sex With  
CG: NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS. I JUST NEED ADVICE ON HOW TO ASK FOR IT.  
GA: It Varies From Person To Person  
CG: SHIT, REALLY?  
GA: I Mean You Could Probably Just Walk Up To Eridan And Say Fuck Me Please And He Would  
GA: But Rose Would Respond Less Than Favorably To An Advance Of That Nature  
CG: I AM A FUCKING IDIOT. THANK YOU FOR REMINDING ME OF THIS FACT. NOW WOULD YOU PLEASE ANSWER MY QUESTION?  
GA: What If I Refuse To Tell You Unless You Let Me Know Whom Your Advances Are Planned Upon  
CG: THEN I’M GOING TO GO ASK TEREZI.  
GA: That Would Go Well  
CG: SHUT THE FUCK UP AND TELL ME HOW TO SEDUCE HIM.  
GA: So Its A Him  
CG: FUCK.  
CG: JUST ANSWER MY QUESTION, KANAYA, PLEASE?  
GA: I Find Actions Speak Louder Than Words  
GA: Thats All Im Saying Until You Tell Me Who This Mysterious Him Is  
CG: OH NO, YOU’VE ALREADY GIVEN ME EVERYTHING I CAME FOR.  
GA: Its Dave Isnt It  
GA: Karkat Are You Still There  
GA: I Presume Ive Frightened You Into Silence  
GA: You Seem To Have Neglected To Recall The Fact That I Reside In The Same City As Our Aforementioned Character  
CG: WAIT, REALLY.  
GA: He Works At A Coffee Shop Called Brewed Awakening And You Burst In Yesterday Evening As He Was Exiting And Kissed The Hell Out Of Him  
GA: Does That Validate Your Suspicions  
CG: WHY THE FUCK WERE YOU ASKING ME WHO IT WAS LIKE YOU DIDN’T KNOW FIVE MINUTES AGO?  
GA: Merely Confirmation Purposes  
CG: WOW. YOU ARE  
CG: I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU ARE.  
GA: Amazingly Helpful And Positively Angelic In Aiding Your Sexual Conquests Are The Words Youre Looking For  
CG: SNARKBEAST.  
CG: WHY DID I EVEN ASK YOU FOR ADVICE IN THE FIRST PLACE? THIS IS FUCKING WEIRD.  
GA: Dave Went Looking To Rose For A Leg Up In His Personal Conquests With You  
GA: I Assume That Conversation Was Equally If Not More Peculiar Than This Current Correspondence  
CG: HE REALLY  
CG: OH MY GOD HE  
CG: HE’S SO HOPELESS.  
GA: If My Surveillances Are Correct Hell Be Arriving Home In No Less Than Six Minutes Give Or Take The Duration Of The Drive Back  
CG: YOU ARE A FUCKING STALKER.  
GA: Merely Observant  
CG: STALKER.  
CG: KANAYA?  
GA: I Havent Left  
CG: GODDAMMIT DON’T RUIN THE MOMENT FOR GOD’S SAKE.  
CG: ANYWAY.  
CG: SETTING ASIDE THE FACT THAT ASKING SOMEONE I’M PALE FOR FOR ADVICE ABOUT MY PERSONAL SEX LIFE IS QUITE POSSIBLY THE WEIRDEST FUCKING THING I’VE EVER DONE  
CG: THANKS.  
GA: Youre Welcome  
GA: What Did I Do To Appropriate This Sudden Show Of Gratitude  
CG: YOU’RE RUINING THE MOMENT.  
GA: Youre The One Who Instigated The Moment  
CG: SHUT UP AND BE MY MOIRAIL ALREADY.  
GA: Gladly  
CG: WAIT  
CG: REALLY?  
GA: I Have A Feeling You Already Know The Answer To That Question  
CG: FUCK IT, YOU’RE RIGHT.  
GA: Now Go Get The Guy Palebro  
CG: OKAY, FIRST OF ALL NEVER SAY THAT EVER AGAIN, SECOND OF ALL MY PERSONAL REDROM CONQUEST-IN-THE-MAKING JUST WALKED IN THE DOOR, SO EXCUSE ME WHILE I PROMPTLY FUCK OFF TO FOLLOW ABSOLUTELY NONE OF THE AWFUL ADVICE YOU JUST GAVE ME.

\-- carcinoGeneticist  [CG] ceased pestering grimAuxiliatrix  [GA] at 15:11 --

GA: Oh Karkat  
GA: Have Fun I Suppose  
GA: <>

\-- grimAuxiliatrix  [GA] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist  [CG]  at 15:11 --  
\-- carcinoGeneticist  [CG]  began pestering grimAuxiliatrix  [GA]  at 15:12 --

CG: <>

\-- carcinoGeneticist  [CG]  ceased pestering grimAuxiliatrix  [GA]  at 15:12 --

* * *

“Honey, I’m home,” comes the shout from the kitchen, and you yell back something derogatory from Dave’s room where you’re sprawled on the bed. There’s a snickering laugh, then footsteps, then a warm weight on your back. An exhale flutters against your skin and you shiver, shutting your laptop and removing it to the floor before rolling over.

This maneuver goes less than gracefully and you end up breathless with laughter as Dave picks himself up off the floor with an indignant look on the bits of his face that are unobscured by shades or hair. You pull him back onto the bed and once he’s situated on his back you swing a leg over his hips, your hands pinning his shoulders to the mattress—everywhere you’re pressed against him feels stupidly electric—and his hands sneak up to your waist and he smirks. “Take me, baby,” he mimes in a breathy, fluttering voice, and something that’s kind of arousal and kind of incredulous _oh my God this guy is such an idiot_ billows up in your stomach.

You push his shades up into his hair again (oh my God oh my _God so many second thoughts_ ) and he blinks up at you through his impossible eyelashes, pursing his lips into a stupid kind of pout. You let out a huff of laughter and grin before you lean down and kiss him, letting his shoulders go and cupping his face. He laughs against your mouth, but before long there are tongues involved and oh holy _shit_ if that’s what you think it is you are very not ready for anything that may be happening next.

You break away, panting, and yes, that’s definitely an unsheathed bulge pressing against your inner thigh. If you shifted over the tiniest bit to the right, there would be actual contact, but you don’t think you could muster up the reso _oooh fuck he just did it for you_ —

He throws back his head—it’s quite literally like a bad porno, or maybe a really good one, you can barely think anymore—and makes the most delicious noise you’ve ever heard— _good porno good porno good porno_ —and holy shit is he unable to keep his mouth shut?

Apparently not, because when the adrenaline and arousal flooding through you gives you enough nerve to try a tentative little grind down, he starts honest-to-God whimpering and his fingers tighten on your hips to the point of almost-pain.

You burst out laughing.

He gives you an indignantly adorable look up through his eyelashes, but you’re so nervous and weirded out and turned on and confused and laughing and you might just love him, so you kiss him breathless and sweet and he starts giggling and you break away and just bury your face between his shoulder and neck and laugh.

It takes a while, but you catch your breath again and press a light kiss to the side of his neck. He lets out a gasp and you huff out another puff of laughter against his skin, but manage to lick a broad stripe up his throat and after that everything’s pretty much just tingles and moaning and laughter.

It takes a lot of sloppy makeouts and giggling and ungraceful maneuvering but somehow Dave ends up between your legs, shirtless and shade-less and shameless and looking up at you with his hands sliding up your stomach. You’re panting—not making nearly as much noise as him but still—and actually shove your knuckles in your mouth to muffle the sound you make when he dips his head to mouth at your bulge through your jeans.

“Oh fuck me,” you gasp out, and he snickers and undoes your fly, pulling your jeans and underwear down and all the way off your legs wait what the fuck oh God you are _not ready for this o_ kay you could roll with—okay—oh . . . _fuck_ . . .

Once he’s reduced you to a gasping panting melted mess he crawls back up your body, helping your shirt off as he does. Your vision is obscured for a moment, and when you emerge he kisses you, giggling again—wow _giggling_ —and reaches down to undo his own fly.

You do the same at the same time, and your hands get tangled down there and he _squeaks_ at your touch. You snort with laughter and shove his pants down, sitting up as you do so, and stop completely.

“Strider,” you say, and he cracks open an eye.

“Yeah?”

His voice is an absolute fucking mess, and you would laugh but his bulge is too distracting. Why was his reaction nothing like this when he saw yours? Has he had _past experience_? Was it with—okay not thinking about that right now, focus, what the _fuck is that._

“What the _fuck is that_.”

“It’s a dick,” he responds. “It’s kind of like—a _aaaah_ —”

You reach out and wrap your fingers around it and the noise he makes is pathetic and erotic in equal measure. It feels far too stiff, and it’s as warm as a lowblood, but as you pull your hand from the base upward Dave’s hands find your shoulders and hold on for what appears to be dear life, seeing as he’s stopping blood flow to your hands.

“Dave,” you gasp. “Loosen up.”

“Shit, I’m s-sorry,” he stammers, and you make a triumphant noise as you push him down on the bed.

“I’m not the only one who stammers!”

“Fuck you,” he says, and pulls you down for a kiss. You lean over him, chest-to-chest, and when he breaks away, you grin at him.

He half-smiles back. “What now?”

You sit up, look at his freaky alien bulge and then at your own nice, normal, regular genitalia, and bite your lip. “I guess . . .”

He reaches up and pulls your head down, the palms of his hands warm on your neck. When he kisses you, it’s ridiculously gentle and sweet and you accidentally let slip the tiniest little chirr. Dave snorts with laughter against your mouth and splays his hands on your chest, pushing you up.

“Did you just—?” he asks, and you cover his mouth before he can say anything else.

“Shut up, don’t even, and forget that ever happened.”

“But that was—” Muffled through your makeshift gag, but audible nonetheless. You shove your hand down harder.

“Shh.”

“Karkat—”

“Don’t fucking even.”

“But it’s cute,” he says, batting his eyelashes up at you as he peels your hand away from his face. You look away, definitely not blushing.

“Just shut up and fuck me already.”

“I—” He kind of gulps, but manages to scoot you down his body until you’re straddling his hips. You can feel the unnatural stiffness of his human bulge pressing against the heat of your nook, and rock your hips slightly. His breath catches, and you grin.

“Like that?”

“Y-yeah,” he stutters, and the beginnings of a triumphant _aha!_ are making their way into this world, borne on your gloating tongue, when he presses a finger against your lips before sliding his hand down your chest and gripping your hips.

“What are you doing,” you state after a moment, bracing yourself on his chest as he grinds up into you. It’s nice, admittedly, but not very exceptional following about ten seconds.

“Um.” He looks a bit lost. “Do you think you’re ready?”

“Goddamn, Strider, I don’t know, let’s just plow full steam ahead and risk splitting me open with your unnatural human genitalia,” you say sarcastically. “Of course I’m fucking ready!”

You’re not, at least mentally, but you’re not backing out now. Dave gives you a vaguely worried look, but pulls your hips up until you’re hovering over his crotch. He guides your hand down and you catch on, wrapping your fingers around his dick and relishing the way his eyes flutter closed.

You pull his human bulge upright and inch yourself down, honest-to-God gasping as it _just_ presses inside you. It feels far too large, but you wait until your thighs are trembling before you inch down again, and it’s bearable.

Dave’s hands are shaking on your thighs and his head is thrown back, his throat utterly exposed. He looks so vulnerable beneath you, and it’s inexplicably arousing. You let him slip a little farther inside you, and you both moan in tandem. There’s a brief bout of very breathless giggling that ends when you very, _very_ slowly press down until you’re seated, panting, in the cradle of Dave’s hips.

It takes a while, but eventually you start rocking, then he starts thrusting, and then there’s kissing, and then there’s fingers running through hair, and then fingertips brushing against the base of your horns and a sharp, _oh shit what did I just do_ pause and then you keen into Dave’s neck and reach up to adjust his grip, and after that there’s an embarrassing amount of moaning and absolutely no pail and the best kind of mess.

* * *

His breath is a warm murmur against the nape of your neck. You’re relaxed against the cradle of Dave’s body, though there’s still anxiety buried somewhere deep inside you. What if you find another way to fuck this up?

“Relax,” he says, and the feeling of his lips moving against your skin sends tingles down your spine. You make a soft scoffing noise.

“What?” His voice is clearer now, his head lifted and his chin resting on your shoulder. Who knew he’d be so into post-coital cuddles, not that you’re complaining.

“There are still mistakes,” you say. “There are a fuckton of mistakes out there to make, and I’m just . . . I’m just. I’m not scared, I’m just—”

He makes an incredulous laughing noise, and his head flops back down behind yours. “You are so scared,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice even though it’s muffled again. “You are as scared as a fucking elephant faced with the world’s most ferocious minuscule mouse warrior and you don’t even have to be.”

“How do you know?” You’re indignant, and you’d never admit it, but yes you’re scared, you’re so fucking scared and it’s awful.

“You ran because you were scared,” he says, his breath tickling the back of your neck. “You were scared of messing everything up, and never being able to talk to me again, and of ruining everything if you tried to push this past just a friendship.”

You rub your eyes. He’s fucking right, of course.

“I know because I felt the same way, you moron.” He presses a kiss to your back, and you smile involuntarily.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, and he props himself up on an elbow. You roll over to face him. He’s smiling. You kind of love that smile. You kind of love him.

“You, good sir,” he says, bowing his head so his mouth hovers just below your ear, “are very fucking welcome.”

And when he kisses you, you know he kind of loves you right back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK SMUT
> 
> THE SMUT HAPPENED
> 
> Okay wow. I finished. And the last chapter is the longest (and also coincidentally the one with all the sex. Look at that. Complete coincidence. It's not like my attention span for writing can only be held by word porn, no not at all that's not true in any way shape or form.)
> 
> ((also sorry about the weird moirail symbol, it's only that way because html wouldn't let me show the canon symbol, so))
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and special thanks to NothingSoDivine for being one of the two who inspired this fiasco and being its devoted caretaker and constant constructive criticism source throughout all its trials and tribulations. As always, comments kudos critique and requests for new fics are very welcome, especially now that I've finished this :D <3 Love you all and thank you again!
> 
> EDIT: Hey NothingSoDivine; that surprise I promised you? That's still happening >:]


	8. Epilogue: Surprise

“Is it all right?”

She glances up at you over the rim of her mug, her lips curving into that smile that’s half-snarky and half-genuine. You love that smile. “Would I still be drinking it if it wasn’t?”

“Point, as always,” you concede, letting a smile of your own quirk the corners of your mouth. You’ve always found the drinks here to be more than satisfactory, but as Rose is new in the area and also in your temporary custody you consider it your duty to make sure she’s granted all the hospitalities deserved of her.

Rose’s voice breaks through your reverie. “When did you say he gets off work?”

“Roughly seven minutes,” you say, glancing around. “Do you think today is the day?”

“I certainly hope so,” she says, glancing over at the white-blonde head behind the counter. “I’m getting tired of waiting for them.”

“Agreed,” you reply, leaning back against the over-stuffed leather couch. Minutes tick by. You glance at Rose. She raises an eyebrow. You purse your lips.

The door slams open.

You jump violently but manage to dignify yourself with a demure throat-clearing, the tips of your fingers pressed delicately against your mouth. Rose presses her lips together, her gorgeous smile breaking through the façade despite her efforts. Her eyes are fixed on whoever just walked in the door.

You turn the same way, and through the suffocating peacefulness of a coffee-shop you see Karkat, standing, panting, with his hands fisted at his sides. You throw a glance at Rose, who meets your gaze briefly and cocks a perfect eyebrow. You smirk, and she nods towards the figure making its way across the room, straight for the romantic refugee with the awful hair.

( _Honestly, has he even considered picking up a comb in the past six months?_ )

Dave’s eyes are obviously cast only upon the capturing spectacle of his feet. You stifle an actual giggle as he literally bumps into Karkat, but when the short one grabs the tall one and kisses him with all the fervor of several years of pent-up expanding flushed attraction, your grin is too wide to be contained by your face. When you glance over at Rose once again, she seems to be in a similar state of uncontainable glee.

They break apart after a span of time that borders on indecent but remains just inside the boundaries of acceptable in public, and you can’t stop grinning. Rose wolf-whistles and immediately turns away, a pretense of being absolutely absorbed in her drink firmly in place.

The endearingly hopeless duo kind of stumbles to the door and you both watch them the rest of the way. Rose’s fingers slip between yours, and you squeeze her hand, only turning to her once your entertainment has driven away in a ridiculously old pickup.

“Well, I think this saga is over, don’t you, Kanaya?” says a low voice in your ear, and you turn to kiss her, lightly, relishing the feel of her mouth against yours and the flutter of her breath on your cheek when you break apart.

You nod thoughtfully. “I’ll have to agree, my dear.” Your smile turns just the _tiniest_ bit mischievous. “Although I do rather think it needs a name . . .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops? no not really


End file.
